


Bad Romance

by Angsty_McGoth (Doctor_Cyance)



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-09
Updated: 2010-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-21 16:08:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1556252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Cyance/pseuds/Angsty_McGoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grimmjow/Ichigo, crack! Theme: Be careful what you wish for. Language,Violence,Yaoi</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Romance

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally posted on my LJ (angsty_mcgoth) around 2010, but I'm moving it here due to continuing issues with that platform.
> 
> Notes: Thanks to Quilsh and Boggit for beta'ing and giving me lots of thoughtful, helpful comments.

Grimmjow looked down on Ichigo’s corpse and smiled.  
  
Because that was what it was: his body, beaten so bad it wasn’t moving any more. Lifeless. The shinigami hadn’t made so much as a tremble since Grimmjow cut him down.  
  
He kicked Ichigo, rolling him onto his back. His eyes were shut and his face slackened. Grimmjow could feel the rush of adrenaline fading into a delirious, giddy high. His arm ached sharply; it was broken in two places. Grimmjow could tell because there were two bones sticking very matter-of-factly out of his skin. Not that it mattered; Grimmjow had told the little fucker once before that he’d only need one arm to beat him and he had.  
  
 _He had._ Grimmjow shivered, and a little hiccup of a giggle bubbled out. He could tell that running those two words over and over again in his mind wasn’t going to get old any time soon. Hell, he knew he’d be looping the whole fight over in his mind until he died, just the look on Kurosaki’s face when he finally realized he’d _lost._   
  
No one around to save him this time. Not strong enough to save himself.  
  
Grimmjow had always known he could’ve wiped the floor with the kid if he wasn’t interrupted doing it, and he’d finally gotten to prove it. And oh fuck, Grimmjow had known it was gonna be good the time he took that cocky little piece of shit down, but he hadn’t thought it’d be so fucking _perfect_. He was laughing without realizing it, breath catching against something wet—blood in his lungs, probably—and he coughed until his head was light, slumping to his knees until it stopped.  
  
Grimmjow didn’t bother to rise, rolling to lay flat on his back, enjoying the deep aches the fight had brought on. The sky was darkening to the cerulean blue-black of on-coming night; the color of deeply-bruised tissue. Ichigo was gonna have plenty of those by tomorrow. Grimmjow knew he’d have his own but it didn’t much matter; he closed his eyes, smile stretching his face in a wide split.  
  
He still couldn’t believe that this was _it_ , the time he finally brought that little shit down to the level where he belonged. To show him how weak he really was.  
  
Things hadn’t started out too different, though every fight they had was special in its own way—if Grimmjow were one to think of things in such sentimental terms, which he wasn’t. It hadn’t taken much to get Ichigo released and into his masked form; that alone had brought a rush of excitement, so physical that Grimmjow’s hands had convulsed in small, jerky motions that he couldn’t control; the symptoms of such a bone-deep and visceral pleasure.  
  
They were both bloodied up in no time, the way things were _supposed_ to be, but it all came down to that single moment when he’d closed in on Ichigo: the little fuck hadn’t let him get there easily, and Grimmjow used his arm—already broken and useless—to catch the hard swing of the shinigami’s sword by letting it bury deep in his shoulder. Ichigo’s eyes had widened a bit, thinking the move reckless, but then they widened even further when Grimmjow drove his blade to the hilt right between the bastard's ribs.  
  
Grimmjow had been close enough to hear the short, croaking gasp of disbelief and pain—his blood stirred just thinking about it; Grimmjow knew he’d be savoring that sound until his last day. He hadn’t given Ichigo even a moment to recover, instead snatching Pantera away, ripping it right out of him and letting it fall so that Grimmjow could slam a tightened fist into the wound he’d left. The blow would’ve been enough to break Ichigo’s bones, but gutted like he was, it took him to his knees. The shinigami dropped like he was made of lead, wheezing and choking, his eyes rolling back in his head.  
  
Grimmjow let a low, contented sigh rumble out of his chest like a purr, savoring the memory. Ichigo hadn’t moved after he’d fallen, and that was a little unexpected—almost a disappointment, but Grimmjow didn’t want to taint the victory with regret. So what if it’d been almost too easy? His shoulder was cut to the bone, the rest of his arm ruined when Kurosaki had snapped it in the first place. You couldn’t call that nothing. But the little seeds of doubt started sprouting as soon as they’d fallen into his mind, and Grimmjow frowned; it was just like Ichigo to spoil his fun.  
  
He got to his feet, and swayed at the headrush. There was something missing and he couldn’t quite place it. Grimmjow had always known he’d win out, but in all the moments he’d fantasized about it—and Grimmjow had no shame calling it that, debased and foul and perverse, the way others would dream of fucking the person they could never have—he’d always imagined a little bit… _more_.  
  
Ichigo should’ve gone out like a super nova, screaming and wailing in defeat and disbelief, finally realizing his own weakness. Grimmjow just _didn’t like it_ this way, how the shinigami had fallen like a stone into calm water, not even leaving a ripple.  
  
A fight won too easily wasn’t a fight at all. A fight like that against Ichigo was even more wrong.  
  
He stood over Kurosaki’s body, the brat’s face ashen and unmoving. There were many things Grimmjow wanted and most of all, this was it; to have Ichigo broken and bleeding, just _weak_ and _helpless_ , and Grimmjow to be the one to bring him to that point. But what happened after that, he thought, _what happens now?_ Grimmjow was somewhat surprised to have no answer to his own question; he’d never really considered an _after_ where Ichigo was concerned.  
  
He toed at Ichigo’s body, but the brat made no response, even when Grimmjow kicked him. He could feel the slow, steady rise of panic in his gut. He couldn’t place it, and that made it all the worse; a dread like he’d never experienced, and for _what?_ Ichigo couldn't just give up and _die_ like this, it was deeply unfair.   
  
Grimmjow stalked tight circles around the body, kicking it every few paces, willing it to _move_ , even just a little. This couldn’t be it, couldn’t be _it_. Victory wasn’t exactly something he could savor without an audience; Grimmjow only wanted to crow about it to one person anyway, and it wasn’t fair, _wasn’t fair—_  
  
He pounced on the broken body, his face right in Ichigo’s, glaring.  
  
Nothing.  
  
Grimmjow’s breath escaped in a hard puff of air, lips peeling back off his teeth. “You _disgust_ me.”  
  
Ichigo gave him exactly nothing in return, so Grimmjow hit him across the jaw, turning his head. The shinigami remained that way, eyes closed, vacant as an empty husk. Grimmjow felt a sharp shiver course through his gut like a ghost walking through him, stealing his breath.  
  
“Get the _fuck up_ ,” Grimmjow snapped, panic edging into his voice, and Grimmjow didn’t like the sound of that one bit. He’d make Ichigo pay for this deep sinking of helpless fear—whenever the little fuck decided to stop stubbornly ignoring him.  
  
“This can’t be fucking over!” He gripped Ichigo’s chin hard in shaking fingers, pushing his face away with a jerk, and dropping his head to the shinigami’s chest. With one ear placed flat against Ichigo’s breastbone, Grimmjow could hear a faint, thready beat—hardly anything but it was _there_ —and the rush of relief at that small sound was just as nauseating as the possibility of not hearing it at all. Grimmjow pulled back and slammed a fist into the fucker’s chest, driving a little more life back into that failing pulse--  
  
Ichigo jerked, dragging in a deep, wet-sounding breath and gagging. He coughed, head rolling to the side and his body followed it as he vomited a gout of blood. That was more like it. That was _more fucking like it_ , and Grimmjow sat back and watched while the little prick heaved up his shredded insides.  
  
“Zangets—” Ichigo whispered, interrupted by more coughing. Grimmjow shoved the bastard’s shoulder, pushing him flat on his back.  
  
“No, it’s me,” he snapped, grabbing a fistful of Ichigo’s shihakushou and hauling him up close, their faces inches apart. “ _Me_.”  
  
He watched the kid’s glassy eyes as they tried to focus. Recognition seemed to dawn with the downward tilt of his eyebrows as Ichigo attempted to both glare and remain conscious. His jaw set angrily as he took tight little breaths, each one thick with smell of blood. “Grimmjow.”  
  
Grimmjow’s teeth snapped into a malicious smile instantly, just from _how fucking good_ his name sounded in that throaty, pained voice. “Heh, that’s what I like to hear.”  
  
Ichigo tried to say something in return, but all that came out was a liquidy hack, his body jerking and his mouth leaving red flecks over Grimmjow’s jacket and face. He stood angrily, leaving the shinigami in a sad-looking little puddle of blood and defeat on the ground. Ichigo rolled feebly onto his side, coughing and seemingly unable to stop.  
  
“Get up.”  
  
Ichigo’s shoulders shook, his head and back bowed as he sucked in deep breaths, the sound of pain edging along each one. Grimmjow knew he hadn’t hurt him that bad; Ichigo had taken just as much every other time and still gotten up, he was sure of it. Ichigo did look good like this, he had to admit, kneeling before him; it was a hell of a lot better than having him still as death. Not good enough, though, without any fight left in him, and that just wasn’t _right_.  
  
Grimmjow noticed that he’d started pacing again, his patience snapping along with the tension in his muscles. He snatched Ichigo’s shoulder, dragging him to his feet. The shinigami swayed, legs catching to support himself while he leaned heavily on Grimmjow’s arm.  
  
“Hurry the fuck up!” Grimmjow shook him viciously, and the brat’s head lolled loosely before he slumped forward, face resting against Grimmjow’s shoulder. “God fucking dammit, you don’t break this easily!”  
  
Ichigo moaned, the sound of air pressed out of a cadaver. Grimmjow could feel slight tremors traveling through the kid’s frame, cold sweat from his forehead slick against Grimmjow’s collarbone. Grimmjow frowned; maybe he’d overdone it. But that thought pissed him off just as bad as the little fuck’s damp, panting breaths against his skin—Kurosaki could _damn well_ shrug off worse than this and come running back for more.  
  
He grabbed a fistful of Ichigo’s hair, peeling his face away and glaring. “What a goddamn disappointment you’re turning out to be.”  
  
Ichigo’s gaze narrowed for a moment, as though he were seeing Grimmjow for the first time. Then the little brat just blinked, once, “Grimmjow.”  
  
“Yeah! Yeah, fuck, it’s me!” He stuck his face right into Ichigo’s. “Now what the fuck’re you gonna do about it?”  
  
But Ichigo didn’t respond, eyes rolling back in his head as his legs gave out. Grimmjow’s supporting arm was the only thing that saved him from collapsing in a heap.  
  
Grimmjow gaped. “You gotta be fucking kidding me!”  
  
What the fuck _was_ this? Other than the biggest goddamn letdown Grimmjow had ever had the displeasure to experience—as if the shinigami had bones made of glass. Grimmjow felt a helpless, overwhelmed moment rush over him; he realized that he really didn’t want the little brat dead. Because if Ichigo died, what exactly was Grimmjow supposed to fight? He wasn’t sure he’d ever considered the idea before.  
  
He was thinking on adrenaline and impulse, knowing he had to act quickly, and threw the shinigami over his shoulder; Grimmjow’s pesquisa searched out the only person he knew capable of returning things to their proper order. The girl Aizen had been so interested in—the one Kurosaki had sacrificed everything for—she was here in the real world, Grimmjow could sense her not more than a minute’s distance away, and he set off using sonido to quicken the journey, not knowing or caring what’d happen once he reached her.   
  
  
**  
  
  
Grimmjow popped back into the real world and found himself a nice open rooftop to lounge around on, waiting. Karakura was turning into a place of familiar haunts, places he could look back at and remember the fights he'd had before with Kurosaki. Pleasant memories each one, to be sure, but he'd picked this roof because it was still an open sore: it was the same place Grimmjow had beaten him, where he could've left Ichigo to die. Grimmjow wasn't about to let the shinigami forget that.  
  
He could feel the shinigami’s reiatsu flickering about the town but didn’t set off after him; this time he’d make Ichigo come to him, and he eventually did. The prick’s inability to sense anything other than himself left Grimmjow bored until, like a dog picking up on an invisible sound, Ichigo made a beeline right for him.  
  
It was a lot more satisfying jerking Ichigo around than being the one to chase after him, despite how much Grimmjow typically enjoyed doing so.  
  
Ichigo landed on the rooftop without a whisper, already released to his bankai. Grimmjow could feel the first tremblings of unsuppressed excitement fluttering up his stomach, unashamedly pleased to have the shinigami's attention narrowed in on him and him alone. He was less happy about the smirk the little shit was wearing; Ichigo should be wary, he should be fucking _scared_ by how badly he’d been pounded on the last time.  
  
“You just couldn’t let me go, huh?” Ichigo said, in a superior fucking manner that suggested he had it all figured out.  
  
“Che, is that what you’ve been telling yourself? How sad.”  
  
“If there’s a better reason, I’d love to hear it.”  
  
“I don’t gotta have a better reason,” Grimmjow snorted, and pushed himself off the wall he rested against, closing the distance between them. “I don't gotta have any reason at all, not when you give it up so easy.”  
  
“Sounds like you’re making excuses.” Ichigo’s smile had vanished. “I know you’ve got something to prove, Grimmjow, but I doubt Aizen sees things the same way.”  
  
“Aizen ain’t ever had a place between you’n me,” Grimmjow said, smiling. They'd been dancing to this tune for longer than Grimmjow wanted to think; fighting just for the blood, the pleasure of breaking their opponent. He knew Kurosaki was just the same as he was, or else he would've done away with Grimmjow a long time ago--he'd had the opportunity, though Grimmjow didn't appreciate lingering on those few defeats. “I don’t give a _fuck_ what he thinks, and you know it.”  
  
“Then why?”  
  
“Then why _what?_ ”  
  
“Why didn’t you kill me? Why’d you bring me to Inoue? You’ve done it before, Grimmjow,” Ichigo said; so serious, so _boring_. “You could’ve let me die, but you didn’t.”  
  
Grimmjow sighed, annoyed. “Where’s the fun in that, eh?”  
  
Ichigo tilted his head to the side, his face skeptical. “Excuse me?”  
  
“I _said_ , where’s the _fun_ in that?” Grimmjow matched the shinigami’s bored expression, pressing in close. “You can tell me you were off your game, shinigami, I’ll even be nice and believe you. I don’t usually get to slap you around that bad unless you’ve already been popped in the head a few times. It was like you were _letting_ me do it.”  
  
“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
“You really wanna know why I didn’t kill you, huh?” Grimmjow paused with only inches separating them. “I know you like to think you’re fighting for something, right? You don’t kill or beat anything that doesn’t deserve it, so why should I? That’s how you are to me, shinigami: something I’d feel bad about killing. You like to make all these fights into something that means something, dontcha? What you made me feel was _pity_.”  
  
Ichigo’s jaw clenched, “Say that again.”  
  
Grimmjow gave a little bark of a laugh, “Well, alright then.” He leaned, bending at the waist so his leering smile was right in Ichigo’s face. “There ain’t no satisfaction in a fight like that, for me to bust up somebody who can’t even fight back—“  
  
He should’ve expected the fucking _love-tap_ Ichigo popped him with for that, the tip of Grimmjow’s tongue nipped between his teeth as his jaw came snapping together. That was bad enough, but then the brat swept Grimmjow’s legs right out from under him, landing him flat on his back and Ichigo pounced on his prone body, one knee gouging hard into his diaphragm and squeezing out what little air he had left from his lungs. _Fuck_ , that prick could move fast when he wanted.  
  
Ichigo grabbed his jaw, fingers digging in painfully. “Care to repeat that?” Ichigo hissed. “I didn’t quite catch it the first time.”  
  
“Glxhg,” said Grimmjow, which wasn’t quite the cutting retort he had planned, too busy sucking air back into his chest.  
  
“I’m only going to say this once, Grimmjow, and I’ll go slowly, so try to keep up,” Ichigo snapped, still holding his face in a bruising grip. “ _Don’t_ take me lightly when you know I can match you. Don’t think this gives you any advantage over me, just because you got lucky one time.”  
  
“Lucky, huh? Is that what you think, you little shit—” Grimmjow snarled, moving to wrench the brat off him but Ichigo stamped on his arm, pinning it to the ground. “Ow!”  
  
“Don’t interrupt me!”  
  
Grimmjow twisted, sneering, “Lesson number three, then?”  
  
“It should be.” Ichigo punctuated the statement by grinding his foot against the trapped limb. “But remember this one.”  
  
Grimmjow tried to recoil further as Ichigo leaned over him, the grip on his face softening but losing none of its hold, and then Ichigo was kissing him, all hard lips and teeth followed by the wet swipe of his tongue. It made Grimmjow gasp, already breathless as he was, mouth open and working against Ichigo’s before he even realized it. And that was all Grimmjow got--not nearly enough, and he chased after Ichigo as the brat pulled way. Holy _fuck_ , what the hell had that just been? He felt stunned, and could taste his heart beating at the back of his throat.  
  
Ichigo’s eyes were dark with anger and desire. “Don’t treat me like an idiot who’s so blind he can’t see what you’re doing.”  
  
Grimmjow growled, wary and angry, “Think you’re so smart, don’t you, think you’ve got it _all figured out—_ "  
  
And then Ichigo insinuated himself right on top, settling back across Grimmjow’s hips. Some _very weird_ things were happening to Grimmjow's body as Ichigo's nice little round ass pressed hard over him. Grimmjow squeezed his eyes shut, unable to stop himself from arching up into the touch, clenching his teeth to choke off a moan as it started in his throat. His free hand splayed open over Ichigo’s stomach; so easy to kill him _right now_ , if that was really what he _wanted—_  
  
Ichigo sounded amused. “I’m wrong then, huh?”  
  
Grimmjow snarled. “You’re full of it!”  
  
The shinigami cupped one side of his face, leaning towards him and Grimmjow flinched, expecting and anticipating the brat’s mouth against his own again, not sure what he’d do when it happened. But Ichigo stopped an inch away, those brown, brown eyes locked on his. “You're such a fucking liar.”  
  
Grimmjow could feel the words against his mouth, taking them in, only a taste--and then Ichigo picked himself right up and started _walking away,_ back turned to Grimmjow like he didn’t matter at all.  
  
Grimmjow missed the warmth immediately, disappointment sinking like a cold stone in his chest. And for _what?_ His mind was grinding back into gear, slowly, and he leapt to his feet, shouting after Ichigo, “Oi, what the _fuck_ was that supposed to be?”  
  
Kurosaki just glanced over his shoulder and shrugged—a little sadly or maybe Grimmjow was making that part up himself. “Forget about it. My mistake.”  
  
Grimmjow spluttered a small sound of disbelief. Who the fuck was the prick kidding? He wanted more of that just as much as Grimmjow suddenly did, he could smell it. Grimmjow used sonido to put himself in front of the brat before Ichigo could blink, eyes widening as he took a step back. That was more to Grimmjow’s liking, having him on the defensive. He shoved Ichigo and made him stumble, stalking after him. "You think this is some kinda joke here, asshole? You think this is funny?" He snatched the front of Ichigo's uniform, jerking him upwards an inch and off-balance.  
  
Ichigo returned his glare. "I dunno, Grimmjow. If it's a joke, what's your fucking punchline?"  
  
"Heh," Grimmjow sniggered, sneering jaggedly. "I ain't the joke, it's you. You really so hard-up for an excuse for why you lost?"  
  
"The losing wasn't what was important, dumbass!" Ichigo slapped Grimmjow's hand away from him. "It was what came after. You saved me, why? What're you doing here now? I'm not stupid. I know you want something."  
  
"And you think I want you, huh?" Grimmjow laughed. He couldn't quite fucking believe this, he'd spent every free, waking moment chasing after the little brat, fighting him until they both couldn't move and aching to do it all over again, and in Kurosaki's fucked up little brain, he'd seen it as...what? A constant proposition? Like Grimmjow wanted more from him than just his pain? Grimmjow recognized idly that he should probably be worried by how good that prospect suddenly sounded. "What a fun little fantasy world you must live in, shinigami."  
  
"Fine, I'm wrong then, am I? So do me a favor and _fuck off._ Quit following me, Grimmjow. Quit picking fights with me, and _leave me alone._ Go to hell and stay there."  
  
"I'd like to see you try to make me," Grimmjow snapped, petulantly.  
  
"Well, I'm not going to," Ichigo scoffed. He crossed his arms over his lean chest. "We've been fighting for months! And now you finally beat me--but you won't kill me. What more do you _want?"_  
  
That was a decent enough question; Grimmjow had been pondering it himself, after the last time. He could remember the cold dread he'd felt at the shinigami's still, unmoving form, the life bleeding out of him and stealing Grimmjow's victory along with it. What _did_ he want? An opponent that didn't go down easily and still presented him with a challenge...that'd been good, real fucking good--as long as it'd lasted. He wanted to beat Ichigo again. He wanted it like it'd been before, bloody and murderous, with real pain and real fear; the real threat that behind every exchange between them, death was waiting. Fuck, how'd he managed to ruin that so completely without thinking it over? Grimmjow was starting to feel an uneasy tension in his gut, like he'd lost something and could never get it back.  
  
"Che," he muttered. "Why you gotta ruin my fun?"  
  
"You think this is _fun?_ " The fire in Kurosaki's eyes was the kind that hardened steel, dangerous and with intent. "Because I'm through entertaining you."  
  
And then the little brat turned on his heel and started stomping away, only a few paces before he disappeared in a flash and was gone.  
  
 _What the fuck had just happened?_ This entire scenario was not exactly going Grimmjow's way--if he'd had a way to begin with. He'd been expecting another brawl; Ichigo's ego was definitely aching from the bruising Grimmjow'd given him, and here the little fucker was, passing up a perfectly good opportunity to rectify the odds. Who knew he was such a sore fucking loser. Grimmjow scowled and tried to ignore the churning inside him, an unpleasant mix of disappointment, rage, and lingering arousal. And where the hell had that last bit come from, huh? What did it even mean?  
  
And even worse, why was a very small part of Grimmjow's brain suddenly just _dying_ to find out?  
  
  
**  
  
  
"Your stalker's back."  
  
And she was right, too. Even before Rukia mentioned it, Ichigo had felt Grimmjow's spiritual presence slide into his perception as familiar as a well-worn glove. Or an incredibly irritating thorn in his side. "Don't call him that. He's not my stalker."  
  
He could see Rukia's mouth twist evilly. "Your _boyfriend_ 's back."  
  
Ichigo's stomach lurched. "Fuck, don't call him _that!_ "  
  
"What else would you call it, then?"  
  
"Go back to stalker. At least it's accurate, even if it's _creepy._ "  
  
Rukia scoffed in exasperation. "When are you going to deal with this problem? You can't ignore it forever. Though knowing you, you'd _try._ "  
  
"I did deal with it! I even took your stupid advice, and y'know what? It didn't work! Your advice _sucks,_ " Ichigo hissed the last word, feeling the sharp sting of humiliation prickling fresh up his spine. The back of his neck was probably turning bright red with embarrassment, and stupid fucking Grimmjow--because he was following right behind him, where else?--was bound to notice. If that asshole could overhear their conversation as well, Ichigo was seriously fucked.  
  
Rukia straightened primly beside him, "My advice does not 'suck'. Your delivery, I'm sure, is the factor to blame. _You_ messed it up somehow. Though with how obvious as his... _affections_ seem to be, I can't imagine how that is possible!" She threw her hands up before her, as though his stupidity could fill the space between them. "How could you have possibly messed up something so unbelievably simple?"  
  
"Hey, stop making this _my_ fault. And it wasn't easy, okay?" Ichigo crossed his arms over his chest. Just throwing his feelings out there made him feel about as vulnerable as he possibly could, and with Grimmjow, making one's self exposed was never wise. It wasn't like they could just have a _normal_ conversation about this sort of thing. It probably would've gone ten times worse if Ichigo had tried it that way. He snorted, angry at himself and at Rukia's stupid delusions. "And don't forget the part where he almost killed me. _That's_ not very affectionate."  
  
"Consider the source," Rukia responded simply. She'd been saying that a lot lately, and the bitch of it was that it made sense. Grimmjow beating the fuck out of him was probably the arrancar's version of sending a MASH note--emphasis on the _mash_. "And clearly, he doesn't want you dead. He wouldn't have bothered getting you fixed up otherwise. He was just flirting like normal, and got..." She waved a hand idly. "Carried away."  
  
"Listen to what you're saying! How could this ever be a healthy relationship?"  
  
"What, and you can't take it?" She lifted a single eyebrow archly.  
  
"I'm tried of this," Ichigo muttered. He was tried of being chased, stalked, harassed, and most bruising to his pride, beaten finally, just because Grimmjow--in Rukia's estimation (and she'd converted an alarming number of his friends to her theory)--couldn't figure out any other way of courting him. That last thought even made him feel a little queasy: the arrancar version of courtship undoubtedly included live human sacrifice at the bare minimum. He hadn't been about to give Rukia's meddling another thought until Renji had commented that things made a lot of sense if you looked at them that way, and then Ichigo just _knew_ he was screwed. If _Renji_ could figure things out before he did, he was in seriously deep shit. Ichigo hadn't watched the red-headed dumbass stumble after Rukia like a lost puppy for two years without learning a thing or two about unrequited love.  
  
Ichigo had remained firmly convinced that this wasn't the case with Grimmjow--and he was also pretty damn sure Rukia was only harping on the issue because she knew how easily it got under his skin. She'd set upon the idea with a sort of twisted gleefulness that Ichigo identified as pure revenge, though he still wasn't sure _what_ exactly he'd done to deserve it. But she couldn't have picked a better target: Grimmjow was psychotic, and had an unhealthy fixation with him. Ichigo hadn't given things a second thought for the better part of two months, because fighting Grimmjow was good practice, and he'd really come to enjoy it. The arrancar was one of the only challenges left for him, because despite what his friends said, Ichigo was pretty sure they pulled their punches whenever they were sparring. He didn't have to worry about that with Grimmjow--broken bones and more stab wounds than Ichigo could count would attest to that.  
  
Even contemplating Rukia's crazy ideas was so utterly terrifying that Ichigo had been quite happy to ignore the problem until he could do so no longer. To be honest, ever since the seed of possibility was planted in his mind, Ichigo had been letting it germinate, slowly. Comfortably. Like he was inching towards a sky dive and knew he had all the time in the world to decide if he really, really needed to do this at least once in his life. Because there was really no going back, and Ichigo was quite content to enjoy the view for as long as he needed to. Decisive as he was in most other areas--a trait Rukia typically and erroneously labeled as 'reckless'--Ichigo wasn't about to rush into this one. It hit just a little too close to home.  
  
He didn't like the vulnerable awkwardness that came with admitting, even to himself, that he might want something more from another person. Ichigo liked having friends. He liked having boundaries. Grimmjow was included under neither category, because he certainly wasn't a friend, and he had absolutely no concept of personal space. A secret part of Ichigo's mind didn't exactly hate the idea. It was just...strange. But because he allowed it, Ichigo found the crush sliding right into place between them like it'd always been there, easily visible and impossible to ignore. He couldn't get rid of it, and along with the annoying, uncertain attraction came a not unconsiderable amount of giddy excitement that made him look forward to crossing paths with the damn arrancar.  
  
Ichigo didn't have a lot of experience in being pursued; it was a different feeling, being _wanted,_ and not just as a strong fighter to have at one's side. It made a lot of sense, strangely, because throughout all of their interaction, Grimmjow always sought him out as though no one else existed. There were stronger fighters than Ichigo amongst the shinigami, but Grimmjow never gave them a second glance. How the hell _else_ was Ichigo supposed to take it? Especially after Grimmjow finally had Ichigo completely at his mercy, and hadn't gone through with the one single-minded goal he liked repeating every time they met: _'I'm going to fucking kill you, Kurosaki.'_  
  
Ichigo shivered slightly. When the _fuck_ had that started to sound romantic? He frowned on the heels of that thought; clearly, he couldn't have been more wrong. Or, more precisely, _Rukia_ couldn't have been more wrong. He glared to his side, where she appeared to be in deep contemplation as they both continued on their way to school.  
  
After Inoue patched him up from Grimmjow's tender care, Rukia had fixed him with a pointed stare, arching one eyebrow in an expression that clearly stated, _'I told you so'_. Ichigo was more or less forced to confront things. If Grimmjow was going to finally defeat him, and then go out of his way to see that Ichigo didn't _stay_ dead...something was seriously wrong. Something that Ichigo had felt growing between them for longer than he liked to admit. If the stupid prick was going to go this far in some stupid, brutal game of flirtation, Ichigo wasn't about to shy away.  
  
Things hadn't exactly gone as he'd planned. Maybe he was too overly-confident that he'd never considered the possibility of rejection--but then, why would he? Grimmjow never exactly said no to anything else Ichigo proposed, which, granted, had up until this point been limited to sound beatings. Now here he was--pining like a dumbass because he was stupid enough to pour his fucking heart out, just to have it stomped all over and laughed at. Ichigo really hated this part of having a crush. Fuck; he scrunched his nose up in disgust. 'Grimmjow' and 'crush' belonged in the same sentence about as well as 'penguins' and 'chainsaws'.  
  
"This is just a...minor misunderstanding, I'm sure," Rukia said, interrupting his thoughts.  
  
"You weren't there. There really wasn't anything misunderstood, at least not on his end," Ichigo countered.  
  
"Then why's he still following you around?"  
  
"Beats the fuck outta me! Because he probably wants to be an ass about it, I gave him the perfect opportunity."  
  
She chewed on a fingernail thoughtfully. "Maybe he is shy."  
  
"Have you _met_ the guy? He doesn't even wear a shirt!"  
  
"There's something you could try. Showing a little skin never hurt."  
  
"Oh, will you just _let this go?_ " Ichigo really wanted to ignore everything to do with Grimmjow as quickly as possible, but he'd forgotten how much Rukia hated being wrong.  
  
She fixed him with a very stern glare. "For someone so determined to never give up, you're certainly conceding this fight rather quickly!"  
  
"That's because it isn't a fight! I can't beat him into--" his throat seemed to close up at the attempt to verbalize things. He swallowed around it, "I'm not going to force him to... _like_ me. I don't even like him! Much."  
  
"This isn't an argument over whether he _'likes'_ you or not." He could tell from her tone of voice that she found his choice of phrasing lacking. "He clearly does." Rukia said it with such a sense of righteous conviction that Ichigo felt jealous. Why couldn't Grimmjow have a thing for her instead? "You simply must make him realize it. He is, after all, still following you around. Perhaps you have piqued his interest."  
  
"Like I give a shit!" Ichigo resisted the urge to glower over his shoulder to where he knew the arrancar was.  
  
"Playing hard to get may also be a wise strategy."  
  
"That's not what I'm doing! He had his opportunity! I'm not about to let him jerk me around and then get a second chance to make it right. Which I sincerely doubt he would do," Ichigo added the last in a quiet grumble, thoroughly irritated and for once, looking forward to class, if only to get away from this conversation. If Rukia hadn't been bothersome before, it was twice as bad now. _Now_ Ichigo was suffering from her double-act of well-intentioned meddling, and defensiveness on his behalf. Just because _she_ couldn't imagine how Grimmjow could reject him didn't mean it hadn't happened.  
  
Ichigo really didn't like having his heart out on his sleeve, all wet, bloody and vulnerable, the perfect bait for the stupid bastard. Maybe if Grimmjow pissed him off badly enough with this stalking routine, they really would have a fight to end it. Ichigo didn't intend to let himself be distracted enough to lose a second time.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Ichigo's mind had wandered considerably from whatever lesson the teacher was droning on about as he glared sullenly at the blackboard. His head was perched on one hand while his insides continued to twist themselves into knots. He hated _moping_ about things like this. Rukia might be pretty bright in a lot of things, but when it came to romance, she was dumb, dumb. But he was more the idiot to pay attention to her wild imagination--because that was _all it was._  
  
A foolish longing had sprung up in his mind like a tiny, excitable flame: he wanted a fight. That would make him feel better, and he'd be seeing Grimmjow in the process, which was really all he wanted--and he stomped all over that notion. How fucking ridiculous was his pathetic self-rationalization getting? The _last_ thing he needed was to run into the other man.   
  
He didn't want to have to give up fighting Grimmjow, but there was no way in hell he was going to now--he could just imagine the Espada's mocking taunts. Ichigo should've just gone ahead and let the prick bleed him out, better that than to suffer through the humiliating consequences of his actions.  
  
Ichigo's mental gymnastics were broken abruptly--along with the window, in a sharp, crystalline crash as something slammed into the side of his head. He was knocked clear out of his seat, stunned, while pain blossomed in his temple. _What--the--fuck?_ The classroom was in a sudden uproar, and Ichigo shook his dizzy head to clear the lingering buzz.  
  
"Kurosaki, what on earth--"  
  
"Someone broke the window!" Inoue shouted, and yes, someone had--and Ichigo knew _exactly who_ that someone was.  
  
Rukia prodded him with her foot and hissed, "Ichigo!"   
  
"I'm--" Ichigo started, clutching the side of his head and grimacing as he staggered back to his feet. His hand came away wet. "I'm bleeding."  
  
"I think you should go see the nurse, Mr. Kurosaki," his instructor said with a certain amount of definitive authority that he knew was meant to be reassuring.  
  
 _Really? No shit,_ Ichigo wanted to respond, but instead painted a convincingly pained--he didn't have to fake that part--smile on his face and nodded, "That's probably a good idea."  
  
Rukia was giving him a severe look that he knew meant he had her support, if he needed it. Which he really didn't particularly want. Ichigo wasn't about to share any of the pleasure that would come with kicking Grimmjow's ass. He nodded curtly before taking off for the door, noting the fist-sized rock lying not far from his desk. Fuck, his head was really bleeding, and now he had a pounding headache on top of everything else churning about inside him.  
  
Ichigo turned a corner; he was most definitely not going to see the nurse. He went to the boy's bathroom, picked a stall and locked it, and pressed his shinigami badge to his chest. A moment later his body was falling forward awkwardly across the toilet seat. Ichigo didn't even bother to adjust it into a less embarrassing position--which should've been his first indication that he needed to stop and calm down. But a second later he was on the school roof, ready to beat the ever-loving fuck out of a certain asshole who was grinning so hard it must've been cracking his teeth.  
  
"Now you _gotta_ fight me, am I right?"   
  
"I am not fighting you on top of the school roof, you dumbass," Ichigo snapped. Knowing them, there wouldn't be much of the school left. "And don't fucking throw rocks at me! What is your _problem?_ "  
  
Grimmjow shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I figured you needed to learn the hard way what would happen if you ignored me."  
  
"I've beaten you before, Grimmjow. I'll do it again. Every time you pick a fight like this, I will make you regret it."  
  
"Aw, you must like me an awful lot, with sweet-talk like that." The arrancar smirked, and Ichigo could feel his face burn.  
  
"Stop it. Shut up."  
  
"Are you gonna _make_ me?" Something about Grimmjow's narrowed eyes, and the tilt of his face made him appear disturbingly coquettish.   
  
"Don't tempt me!" Though Ichigo wondered exactly what Grimmjow was tempting him with. His head was still pounding, even in soul-form, which wasn't helping his mood in the least.  
  
Grimmjow laughed, "Y'know, this's been real... _enlightening,_ shinigami. To think all this time you were fighting little ol' me, and for the wrong reasons. Here I always thought you just wanted me for my sword, but I guess you had other things in mind."  
  
"Depends on which sword," Ichigo spat, and bit his tongue. The comment made Grimmjow laugh, and-- _was that a fucking blush on his face?_ Ichigo blinked hard for a long moment, but it was still there. How bizarre. Ichigo shook his head, "Look, forget about that. What are you doing here? You know better than to come after me while I'm at school, jackass."  
  
"Yeah, but you just looked so bored in there, I figured I had to do something to help you out."  
  
"You really shouldn't have," Ichigo muttered.  
  
There was a long, pregnant pause, with the two of them just _staring_ at each other. Ichigo resisted the urge to shuffle his feet, or turn his eyes away; he wasn't about to give any sort of signal that Grimmjow's idiotic tactics were having their intended effect. As dearly as he would've like to kick the bastard's ass, giving Grimmjow exactly what he wanted whenever he wanted it was a dangerous precedent to set.   
  
Ichigo gritted his teeth and refused to be the one who broke their glaring match first. The arrancar had really nice eyes. Ichigo wondered what the markings on either side of them looked like up close. Fuck, he felt like a royal idiot. Any minute now, Rukia was going to make some dumbass excuse to come figure out what was taking him so long, or someone was going to find his body in the men's toilet--  
  
"So," Grimmjow began, and it sounded far too casual to actually _be_ casual. "Wanna fight?"  
  
"No!" Ichigo scoffed. "I'm not fighting with you! Especially not here!"  
  
"We could go someplace else--"  
  
"We're _not fighting,_ Grimmjow. I'm not going to let you goad me into things, especially if you're only going to make fun of me."  
  
Grimmjow snarled, an expression of extreme disbelief. "What the fuck, shinigami! You never turn down a challenge." Then he was getting right up into Ichigo's space; he'd used a sonido, moving faster than the static pop that accompanied it, and Ichigo took a stumbling step backwards. "If you're not gonna fight me, I can make you do it. Y'know what your problem is? You got all these _friends._ That's a liability, and I ain't above going after them to make _you_ go after _me._ "  
  
Ichigo held his ground, crossing his arms defensively. "Try it, asshole. You'll be a grease-stain on the pavement."  
  
"Now that's what I like to hear." Grimmjow's voice was as low as a purr.  
  
"You can't blackmail me into fighting you, Grimmjow."  
  
"Funny." Grimmjow leaned towards him, "Cause I just did."  
  
Ichigo's anger snapped, and he snatched Grimmjow's sharp jaw in one hand, snarling right into his face. "Now listen up, you motherfucking prick. You had your chance with this, and you passed. _Fuck off!_ "  
  
He shoved the other man away, but Grimmjow didn't go far, snickering, "You just can't keep your hands off me, can you?"  
  
"That wasn't a proposition!"  
  
"Can't keep me from taking it like one," Grimmjow smirked. His body was simply too close, and Ichigo could feel heat stirring in his stomach.  
  
Ichigo felt like screaming in frustration, sexual or otherwise. Which was, evidently, Grimmjow's desired intent. But Ichigo couldn't exactly blame the bastard--it wasn't often that your opponent so easily served up exactly what you needed to turn them inside out. The realization only made Ichigo hate himself more, and he clenched his fists until his fingernails bit into his palms. "We're finished," he hissed. " _Leave me alone._ Go find somebody else to fight! Soul Society has plenty of people if you just feel like bashing your heads together."  
  
Grimmjow's eyebrows pinched together in a confused frown. "But I don't want anybody else."  
  
"That's not my problem!" Ichigo turned away, stalking across the rooftop and back to his body. "Maybe you should figure out what the fuck it _is_ that you want."  
  
He felt tension tightening his shoulder blades, but refused to look behind; turning his back to Grimmjow was never a smart decision, but Ichigo knew he could take any attack the other man gave him. He was waiting for it, but Grimmjow never came; Ichigo had disappeared into the school when he felt the arrancar's reiatsu retreating. What the hell had that been about? Maybe Grimmjow really didn't want anything more than a good fight and was trying to restore things to their normal order so he could get it. Ichigo wasn't exactly feeling charitable, and had no problem depriving the other man of his desires--turn about being fair play and all.  
  
Ichigo reached the bathroom at a jog; hopefully, his body hadn't left a large enough blood pool on the floor that someone would've noticed. But as soon as he entered, he realized--the stall was open. His body was gone. Shit. The day could not possibly get any worse.  
  
" _Ichigo!_ " His name was hissed and he saw Rukia at the door to the men's room. "What happened?"  
  
"Nothing happened," he replied, wearily. "Where's my body?"  
  
"Hmm," she huffed, crossing her arms in annoyance. Her back was ramrod straight and disapproving, probably because he'd yet again failed to get Grimmjow fawning at his feet. "It's your fault, you left it here after all. Did you think the teacher wouldn't send someone to check up on you with the nurse?"  
  
And of course, the nurse had _no idea what the fuck was going on_ \--shit.  
  
"Shit," Ichigo repeated. He brushed passed Rukia and made for the infirmary. There was his body--out cold, just like he'd left it, but with a new bandage around its head. He sank into his old form and a second later was gasping in a breath; the nurse jumped and almost screamed.  
  
"I'm fine," Ichigo said, and sat up. His head protested angrily.  
  
"You are most certainly not fine, Kurosaki!" the nurse scolded. "My goodness, what on earth compelled you to go to the bathroom instead of coming straight to me?"  
  
"I thought I was gonna be sick," Ichigo responded. It was a plausible excuse.  
  
"Well, that makes sense; you have a concussion."  
  
 _Like hell,_ Ichigo thought. He could damn well take a smack to the head like that without needing this sort of mothering attention. "I really feel okay. Can I go back to class?"  
  
The nurse paused, consideringly. "I suppose. But I can't imagine why you'd want to do that when you could go home. In your condition, it might be best."  
  
"I don't think I could make it that far right now," Ichigo lied. He really didn't want to walk home, not when Grimmjow would clearly be waiting for him. "Maybe I'll feel up to it after a couple of hours."  
  
"You have permission to leave at noon if you start feeling ill again," she said. "Or come see me. You can rest here as long as you like."  
  
"Thanks. That kinda sounds like a good idea." Ichigo lay back, and stared at the ceiling. Fuck. How did he managed to screw his life up this badly? Some things just weren't worth it. Grimmjow _definitely_ wasn't worth it. In all the times Rukia had pestered him about just confronting the issue, in that typical, _'what's the harm?'_ way she phrased things--like he was taking a second helping because he was genuinely still hungry--Ichigo hadn't really imagined the fall-out would be this painful.  
  
Blood pulsed in his pounding head like a bellows. He was really going to kick Grimmjow's ass for this. It was irritating that he had to wait until things blew over to do so.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Grimmjow watched the figures in the Kurosaki Clinic moving in front of its cheery, yellow-lighted windows. He'd been sitting on an adjacent building for hours; just watching, like usual.  
  
Fucking Kurosaki. Where the hell did that piece of shit get off making him feel this way? Grimmjow had enjoyed what they had together--a good enemy was hard to find. An opponent that was difficult to kill was even better; Grimmjow liked the chase and the fight more than the eventual defeat, anyway. Or at least he'd learned this the hard way recently. In all of his time fighting Ichigo, in all of the humiliating defeats, when the brat had beaten him beyond Grimmjow's ability to stand and fight back, and in all of the times they'd been pitted against each other and things had ended in a draw, Grimmjow had been left wanting only one thing: to kill Kurosaki Ichigo. And he'd finally gotten the opportunity to do so; he could've seen the little fucker dead, and part of him still wanted to.  
  
That was really all Grimmjow wanted out of his life, such as it was--to see Ichigo weak, helpless in his hands, finally powerless but still defiant. If Ichigo broke, where was the _fun_ in that? Grimmjow knew his idea of 'fun' didn't fit the normal definition, but he didn't exactly give a fuck.  
  
Wanting anything more just seemed greedy. Grimmjow wasn't really opposed to base greed; it was part of his nature. So he was somewhat _surprised,_ when he'd had Ichigo at his mercy, by how much he wanted the shinigami to live. And now, with Ichigo's (truly somewhat insane) propositions, Grimmjow was amazed at how much _more_ he wanted.  
  
Who could've imagined he had it in him to want even more? Certainly not Grimmjow.  
  
Some things were perfect just the way they were. Ichigo was pretty perfect, if Grimmjow could say such a thing without sounding entirely _girly_ about it. But you didn't get much better than a shinigami tainted with hollow, who could fight on an even keel, and who responded to each and every one of Grimmjow's jibes in a predictable and extremely amusing manner. An opponent like that came along once in a lifetime, and Grimmjow was just pleased that they'd managed to make enemies of each other right off the bat. Why did the prick need _more_ than that? He'd gone and fucked everything up between them because of it.   
  
If things weren't jacked on that basis alone, the worst part of it was that Grimmjow was starting to see the appeal to what the shinigami was suggesting. Maybe he'd known it forever or maybe the newness of it was just so startling, but Grimmjow really couldn't get enough of the other man right now--usually, he had a hard time keeping his thoughts off Ichigo, but recently it had been impossible to think of anything else. And his thoughts were going in a decidedly _interesting_ way: despite his initial reservations, Grimmjow found the idea more and more captivating, just like Ichigo himself. It was simply that things had come out of nowhere; they _hated_ each other, and Grimmjow couldn't be blamed for expecting the shinigami to act accordingly--it was just a pleasant surprise when he didn't. But Grimmjow wasn't opposed to that, oh no: once he'd gotten comfortable enough with the idea of having everything Ichigo was offering, he'd found the notion quite agreeable. He looked forward to showing Kurosaki Ichigo just how deep in he'd gotten himself.  
  
So Grimmjow's first attempt to show the other man up hadn't gone so well--so what? It wasn't like Grimmjow won every match they had. And each time he lost, Grimmjow came back with twice the determination. Frankly, in his opinion, Ichigo was damn well asking for it now.  
  
Grimmjow saw the lights in the building flick off, one by one. The glow from Ichigo's room continued, until it dimmed; this meant the brat was studying at his desk. Eventually, that light, too, went out, and Grimmjow waited a short while after. No need to rush things after all, despite the anxious feeling that urged him towards Ichigo. He leapt from his outpost and alighted nearby Ichigo's window; he'd seen the shinigami come rushing out of this place often enough to know it must be kept unlocked routinely. Glancing in, he saw Ichigo in his bed, the covers kicked off to his waist and the brat on his side, eyes open as he scowled at the wall.  
  
Grimmjow shoved the window open and landed inside. "Trouble sleeping?"  
  
The shinigami was up and on his feet in half an instant--in his human body, Grimmjow noted. He was dressed in a white t-shirt and loose-fitting pants that left little to the imagination compared to his shinigami robes, and Grimmjow wasn't complaining, not one bit.  
  
"Get out of my room!" Ichigo's reiatsu seemed stifled, muted by his human meat. Grimmjow repressed the urge to stab a hand into that warm body and rip out the shinigami he knew was inside.  
  
"No." Grimmjow leaned back and settled his hands on his hips with as much confidence as he had. Sure, he usually respected the brat's boundaries--he didn't go after Ichigo at his school, normally, and he certainly didn't pick a fight on the shinigami's home turf. Grimmjow had tried that in the past, and it only led to disappointment when the other man was too fucking distracted to be of any interest; Grimmjow only ever really wanted Ichigo's attention on him, alone.  
  
"I'm not fighting you here, Grimmjow. My family is in the other room." Ichigo crossed his arms, defiantly; Grimmjow wondered if the shinigami knew how provocative the posture was.  
  
"Well good, cause I'm not here to fight."  
  
"Then what?"  
  
"What else is there? You started this, shinigami, you finish it."  
  
"No," Ichigo hissed, and Grimmjow could see his nostrils flare in anger, he could feel it coming off the other man. "You had your chance, and you passed."  
  
"So what, you're willing to let it stand like that? You're not going to force it? What a fucking disappointment you are." Grimmjow really didn't want to have to come out and say why he was in the shinigami's room; that was _embarrassing._ So he settled for just leering, a smirk curving on his thin lips while Ichigo's jaw tightened. He'd never really seen Ichigo in his human form except at a distance, and was suprised by the intensity of his scent--and was surprised even more when he realized he _liked_ it. As a whole, the shinigami only had one scent--and feel, and taste. It was like raw reiatsu, strong and powerful; stirring something inside Grimmjow that was akin to hunger. And here Kurosaki was in his damn flesh-suit, all sweaty and alive, and for some reason, it was driving Grimmjow crazy: he wondered just how far down that smell went, if it was just on the surface or if it was what Ichigo's skin would taste like if Grimmjow could just get close enough to find out. It was more than hunger, and his muscles were almost tearing themselves apart as he restrained himself from just _getting_ at it.  
  
"So," Grimmjow began, when he realized he'd been staring for far too long at Ichigo's lips. They were pretty prefect: like a cupid's bow, especially when they were taut like they were now, full of arrows to shoot in Grimmjow's direction. "You got me thinking."  
  
"Did it hurt?"  
  
"Oh, go fuck yourself, smartass!" Grimmjow snapped, his hands flying up in front of himself defensively. "This isn't easy, okay?"  
  
"I know! It isn't easy! It fucking sucks!" Ichigo took quick steps so he could stab a finger into Grimmjow's chest. "Know what else sucks? When you lay it all out like that and get laughed at."  
  
"I wasn't laughing at you," Grimmjow said without thinking, and wanted to bite his tongue off. Shit, just what the hell?  
  
"Yes, you fucking were! Don't say you weren't, I'm not stupid."  
  
"That's debatable," Grimmjow responded, crossing his arms over his bare chest and taking a step away from the suddenly incensed shinigami. Fuck, Ichigo was hot like that, as he surrendered to the anger. Grimmjow knew that state of mind all too well. "Anyway. I was just thinking," he began, and stopped. Ichigo stared at him, and Grimmjow just didn't like that _feeling,_ of being all out there and open wide; like if he took a misstep, he'd be done for. He struggled to put his lame-ass thoughts into less lame-ass words, "About what you said. It wasn't a bad idea." And that was really all he could come up with. How fucking pathetic.  
  
"No, it wasn't," Ichigo answered. It wasn't a repetition, he was just stating the obvious.  
  
"Maybe I'm just not used to you making sense." Grimmjow shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "Now what?"  
  
Ichigo rolled his eyes, making a long-suffering sound of annoyance. "Beats me, asshole! You're the one who came here. What, is this all you had planned out?"  
  
"Che, _no,_ " Grimmjow lied. "We gotta get some things clear first. I still wanna fight--if we're gonna do anything else, that stays." Grimmjow packed the statement full of deeply-seated conviction. "And none of this bullshit, pulling punches or whatever just because we're doing...other stuff."  
  
"'Other _stuff_ '," Ichigo echoed, bitterly. "How enlightening." He shifted his weight, looking uncertain for a moment. "You really mean that? About the fights."  
  
"Don't think I won't notice if you aren't hitting me hard enough. Cause if you start--"  
  
Grimmjow was going to finish up with something suitably threatening, but Kurosaki's fist whipped out and slammed into chin like a pile-driver. There was a loud snap as his teeth knocked together, tearing on his lip, and Grimmjow staggered from the force of the blow. He clutched his face, and his jaw no longer felt completely straight. He gave Ichigo an appraising once-over, "Well okay, that was real."  
  
"I've been holding it in all day." Ichigo was shaking his fingers out, frail and human. But he still had _so much power_ in that form; Grimmjow could barely believe it, and felt his blood racing.  
  
He took a step forward and the shinigami was moving as well. "I think I want you to hit me again."  
  
"Oh, _shut up_ ," Ichigo hissed, and then they were together, mouths open with Ichigo's breath catching on a sound. A _sigh_ , like he'd been waiting forever to let go of something inside him, and it was all coming out in a rush of busy hands in Grimmjow's hair and against his skin.  
  
Grimmjow knew there wasn't anything quite like a good match, but he was going to have to revise his opinion. With Kurosaki up against him, body strong and muscles moving beneath his warm, mortal skin, Grimmjow knew he'd found something even _better_. Ichigo was worrying the split on his lip, a little bit of pain that made everything else taste sweeter. He hooked a foot behind Ichigo's ankle, the same move Grimmjow used to throw the shinigami off balance when they'd fight. They toppled, and though Grimmjow had been aiming for them to fall on the bed, they both ended up on the floor in heap--but who could really blame him, it was hard to concentrate on manipulating your opponent when he was sucking marks down your throat.  
  
Ichigo grunted when they landed, all struggling, long limbs and sharp elbows, with his knee gouging into Grimmjow's inner thigh. "Real smooth, dumbass."  
  
Grimmjow raised himself up, hands braced on either side of Kurosaki's scowling face. "I'm still getting warmed up."  
  
"Something tells me you'll be using that excuse all night."  
  
"You think you can keep up all night, that's funny, shinigami." Grimmjow felt like laughing; it seemed like the right response in the face of all the weird swooping sensations that'd started up in his stomach. Before he could catch his breath, Ichigo was tugging at his jacket and the knee that'd come dangerously close to his cock was grinding up insistently against it. He hissed, and Ichigo rolled them both; that was just a dirty move, in Grimmjow's opinion, exploiting his distraction like that. But he wasn't complaining with Ichigo right where he wanted him, and dragged the shinigami's shirt up and over his shoulders, catching his lips when his head popped out of the top. Something about Ichigo's human body just seemed to _react_ faster; Grimmjow could feel the hot flush of blood as it rose all over his bared skin.  
  
And holy shit, if the bastard didn't have fast hands when he wanted to, as Grimmjow found himself being very enthusiastically groped. Ichigo went straight for the hole in Grimmjow's stomach, and he had a feeling the shinigami had been dying to explore that piece of unfamiliar territory ever since they'd started. He couldn't even remember getting Ichigo's pants pulled down off his narrow hips; these human clothes were a _definite_ improvement over all the work it would've taken to get this far if Ichigo had been in his shihakushou. He started for Ichigo's mouth at the same time as the shinigami went for his, and their heads cracked together sharply.  
  
"Fuck, just hold still and let me do this," Ichigo said, and he really had no right to sound that annoyed with Grimmjow's hands all over his vulnerable points, his soft belly and fragile ribs. Grimmjow could tear him open and crush his bones, but it was like Ichigo didn't even _care._  
  
Then Ichigo's hand was on his dick, which was pretty great, but it made Grimmjow's brain come to a screeching halt. "Who said you were gonna--do--anything--" Grimmjow ground out. It was a little difficult to keep a coherent thought going with Ichigo doing some downright amazing things with his hands. Grimmjow's hips slid right into the other man's grip like he couldn't stop himself, whining low in his chest and fuck, that couldn't possibly be his voice, how fucking _embarrassing._ Ichigo stopped abruptly, and Grimmjow growled, rising up angrily because _who said Ichigo could stop--_  
  
The shinigami's eyes were dilated and so fucking sincere. "I'm not going too fast here, am I?"  
  
Grimmjow snorted. "More like not fast enough, eh?" Like hell he was gonna let the shinigami get one over on him, and Grimmjow used the momentary distraction to shove the other man and then rolled on top. They'd tumbled like this before, when fighting and each trying to get the upper hand, but there was typically a lot more punching and scratching involved then, and even if Ichigo elbowing him in the head was close, Grimmjow really had no complaints about the change in tone.  
  
He finally trapped the squirming brat beneath him and gave a triumphant, "hah!", just before Ichigo clamped his face in both hands and Grimmjow found himself being kissed a lot more soundly than they'd managed thus far. Kurosaki looped one of his long, half-naked legs around Grimmjow, and every bit of it seemed to somehow get a lot _more_ and _faster,_ with sweat and labored breathing; all of it so _familiar_ but different, and a whole lot better. Ichigo could do some really unbelievable things with his voice, all low and smokey-sounding, like he didn't want to give up what was coming out of his mouth. It was pretty surprising, considering how fucking loud the little shit was in the thick of things usually, shouting his damn head off every time he came charging up, swinging his sword, and Grimmjow liked knowing that he could make Ichigo do both. There was the slide of his hands with the palms open for a change, instead of curled into tight fists, except where it mattered. And at the end, when it all came rushing through him, Grimmjow held on tightly with his face against warm flesh, because he was pretty sure if he didn't he was going to go flying right out of his body and he didn't want to miss an inch of this.   
  
His muscles were left shaking with fine tremors, pleasantly sated but still yearning for another round. Just like a fight; just like everything else with Ichigo.  
  
"That was fun," Ichigo said, his voice sounding tired. Worn out like they'd only just escaped each other with their lives; yeah, _this_ was how it was supposed to be.  
  
They were still on the floor, and Grimmjow was surprised by how little he wanted to move. He took in a deep breath, and the smell of sex and sweat was making him drowsy. "Are you gonna kick me out now?"  
  
"I should," Ichigo grumbled. He actually managed to sound pissed, even after everything. "Give me a good reason not to."  
  
"I already did." Grimmjow smirked and smeared the wet puddle over Ichigo's stomach; he could feel the pulse quick beneath his skin. "Wait a minute and I'll give you another reason."  
  
"Maybe I'll keep you around after all." There was a weary drift in Ichigo's voice, but that was nice, too--a different sort of good that had nothing familiar to it. It was _warm_ and _alive_ and _fascinating,_ and Grimmjow was pretty sure he wouldn't get tired of it any time soon. He'd really made the right decision back then, when he hadn't let Ichigo die. It made him wonder what else the shinigami had hiding in store for him, either in a fight or like this, and fortunately for Grimmjow, he had all the time in the world to find out.


End file.
